


Fear Itself

by SwiftEmera



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:11:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4457870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwiftEmera/pseuds/SwiftEmera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry gets himself kidnapped, and Oliver is at his wits end trying to get him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear Itself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PuppetRhymes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuppetRhymes/gifts).



> I did this for a [tumblr ask](http://smittenvigilantes.tumblr.com/post/125391502368/me-again-sorry-if-im-bothering-you-but-please) that I got a little carried away with. Whoops.
> 
> (Apologies, as usual, for any mistakes - these will be fixed in the morning when it's not 3am).

“ _Fuck_ ,” Oliver chokes out, tears prickling his eyes.

Beside him stands Felicity, who is clinging onto his arm, sobbing into his shoulder and Diggle, who just looks _furious_.

Oliver, though? Oliver's feeling so many emotions at the one time that he can barely concentrate – concern, fury, heartbreak and he just- he _needs_ Barry. He runs his hands over his face, letting out a shaky breath.

Of course, if Barry were there with them, his emotions wouldn't be going into overdrive right now.

They've been led to an abandoned warehouse – a wild goose chase, of some sort. But, of course, the figure that they'd been chasing must have wanted him to be here. The fact that someone is trying to send him a pretty strong message is clear as day. On the table before them lie several photographs, and a note written in extremely messy scrawl, pretty much telling him to wait for further instructions.

As soon as he had clapped his eyes on the photographs, he felt sick to his stomach. Even from a distance, he could spot the red suit instantly, and it hit him like a blow to the gut.

Upon closer inspection, though, it's even _worse_. Barry is completely bound to a chair, his face battered, bruised and bloody all over, but there's a small part of Oliver that's relieved at the fact that he at least seems aware enough to give the camera his best defiant glare. The rest of Oliver, though? The rest of him is screaming internally, because _this just cannot be fucking happening_.

He doesn't realise he's shaking until Diggle lays a palm on his shoulder in attempt to calm him, and his eyes flicker from the trembling photograph in his hands to his friend.

“We'll find him, Oliver. He's going to be okay.”

Oliver swallows thickly – but he can't even gather enough strength to reply. He just looks back down, surveying the photograph as though if he glares at it long enough, it'll suddenly reveal the secret of Barry's location.

The worst part, though? He knows that this is all his fault. This monster – whoever they are – has taken Barry to get to _The_ _Arrow_ – as though they know exactly what the other vigilante means to him.

Surely not, though. They've been so _careful_ . Sure, everyone knew that Oliver Queen was engaged Barry Allen – there was no hiding it once they'd decided to take their relationship to the next level. It had been quite the scandal - Oliver Queen, assumed 'straight' billionaire playboy, shacking up and engaged to a science dork from Central City, who happened to also be _male_.

But they made sure to keep their secret identities separate. _No one_ knows how intimately involved The Arrow and The Flash actually are, aside from the people who already know their identities.

Which means that somehow their cover has been blown. Which, to be honest, is the least of his problems right now – because, honestly? All he cares about is getting Barry to safety, and he doesn't give a shit about secret identities, or how many people he has to plant arrows in in the process of getting his fiancée back for that matter.

He will find whoever kidnapped Barry, and he will make them suffer slowly and painfully.

 

***

 

“Ollie, you've been scouring the streets for days – you need to sleep.”

“I _can't_ sleep,” Oliver hits out, whirling away from the computer screen to meet the source of the voice. “Don't you understand? I can't even go home. He should be there, Laurel. He's not there! I can't--” He claps his quivering hands to his face, breath shaking into them.

He's standing in the Arrow-cave – and it's a testament to how preoccupied his thoughts are that he's not immediately pissed at Barry, because now even _he's_ calling it that. Quite frankly, though, the way he's feeling, Barry can call it whatever the fuck he wants. Fuck, he'll let Barry give himself or his hideout any fucking name under the sun if it means that he's safe and sound where Oliver can protect him.

“Oliver,” Her voice trembles, and she hesitates, before taking slow steps towards him, then softly brushes her palm over his shoulder. “You're no good to him if you don't get some sleep. Please, just-- Felicity has gone to Star Labs, and she's working with Caitlin and Cisco to try and get to the source of it, but you're running on empty, Ollie. You need to go home – or even, go to my place. Just get some rest, I'm begging you.”

He breathes out slowly and unevenly, gazing at her with bleary eyes, and _god fucking dammit_ , she's right. He's no good to Barry right now – can barely _think_ straight, let alone fight whatever fucker is responsible for this. Concern is etched on Laurel's face, and Oliver relents.

 

***

 

He should have taken Laurel up on her offer. He should have went to her apartment – and he most definitely should not have come back to _their_ home.

As soon as he steps into the entryway, there is an invading sense of wrongness in the air. Everything is as it was the morning that they left the apartment. Despite the fact that Barry had moved into the apartment that Oliver previously shared with Thea before she moved out, he still operated in Central City – someone needed to watch over it, after all, and Starling City had vigilantes aplenty. So, sharing a quick peck, Barry was gone in an instant, and Oliver had went about his day as normal.

Except he should have gone with him that day – made sure that he was safe. And yeah, he knows – he _knows_ that he's being irrational – that there's no way he could have known what would happen, but he's still responsible. This happened because someone wanted to hold power over The Arrow, and... well, they have it. In spades.

There's still been no contact, though, and Oliver can't help but wonder when the mystery figure is going to make their move.

It's the not knowing that's the worst part – not knowing what game they're playing, not knowing who he needs to destroy in order to make them pay, not knowing why they're doing this, and the thing that kills him the most is that he doesn't know where Barry is, how to save him, nor what kind of condition he's in right now.

The photographs that had been left for him – the ones that Felicity has taken to Star Labs with her along with the note to be examined for any sort of trace of the culprit – hadn't shown much, but Barry was still concious at the time, at least. It's been three days, though, and the likelihood of him being okay is getting smaller and smaller by the minute. Oliver's head is throbbing and he just _can't fucking breathe right now_.

Suddenly, he's seeing red. Whatever it is – the fatigue, the headache, the anger, worrying about Barry – it sets him off in a big way, and he just... _snaps_.

He lets out a loud, hoarse scream, and charges for the first thing that catches his eye – the television – and crashes his foot through it. There's a loud _bang_ as it hits the floor, and he barely registers the broken sob that escapes him in the process. It's not enough – it does nothing to help, so the rest of his apartment suffers in a similar manner. Books are torn from shelves, ornaments and plants knocked off their surface, until the living room is just... full of broken things.

It's almost mechanic – he moves from room to room, causing as much destruction as he can in his white hot rage. His kettle is thrown across the kitchen, a few plates, mugs, tumblers all in pieces over the floor, and the shaking worsens.

Positively trembling now, he reaches the bedroom, and lets out another devastating roar as he crashes his hand through the bedroom wall – feeling the crack of his bones in the process. Then, exhausted, his back hits the wall, and he sinks to the floor, blood still pounding in his ears, entire body no less tense than it was before his tirade, and he's not sure that any of the destruction has done any good whatsoever.

 

***

 

The next thing Oliver knows, he's being shaken awake.

Dimly, he opens his eyes, and the harsh early morning light shining through the bay windows in their bedroom is the first thing to hit him, causing him to wince, before attempting to focus on the face in front of him with a squint.

Felicity lets out a shaky breath, her hand still perched on Oliver's shoulder. She doesn't mention the mess, nor the fact that Oliver apparently crashed out on the bedroom floor, but the fear and anxiety is clear on her face, and Oliver's heart freezes.

“What did you find?” Oliver asks groggily.

“I--” Felicity hesitates, biting her bottom lip, trying to consider how best to break whatever news she has to Oliver, and the nausea builds in his stomach. He attempts to swallow the lump in his throat, but to no avail. “We found footage of-- of the night Barry was captured. You need to come to Verdant. Right now.”

 

***

 

His bones ache from sleeping on the floor, and his entire being is still screaming out for Barry, but he manages to gather himself together enough to make his way to the nightclub basement with Felicity, where Diggle, Cisco, Caitlin, Laurel and Thea have already gathered.

They all look worse for wear, really, and Oliver is suddenly reminded that he's not the only one who is suffering here. Barry is friends with everyone in the room, and Oliver is fucking _failing_ all of them by not having him back already, and the already present tightening sensation grows in his chest.

The video on the computer screen is grainy – but there is no mistaking Barry. His suit stands out in the dark alleyway. The other figure, though, is difficult to make out, but it's built like a man. Barry moves fast, crushing the figure into the wall, his fist clenched onto his jacket, and Barry is saying something to him – but the video is soundless. Suddenly, without warning, something slips into the guy's right hand from his sleeve, and he slams it into Barry's neck in one swift movement. Barry staggers back, and whatever he's been injected with works fast through his system. He starts shaking uncontrollably, and the man is circling him now, and why the _fuck_ isn't Barry running?

Soon, he's being dragged, and Barry just seems to collapse, shaking like a leaf, while the figure pulls him up and drapes him over his shoulder, hoisting him out of the alleyway. There's a brief moment where the figure looks up into the camera, and Felicity quickly keys something in before they've zoomed in on the image. She does something that sharpens the image, and Caitlin lets out a gasp, earning her perplexed looks from everyone else in the room.

“Dr Jonathan Crane,” She explains, bug-eyed. “Do you not-- have you not heard of him?”

Oliver shakes his head, but there's a buzz of excitement in the air, because finally – _finally_ they're getting somewhere.

“He was a doctor at Arkham Asylum,” Caitlin tells them, voice quivering. “And he-- it was a few years ago, he was declared criminally insane. Went by Scarecrow – hurt a lot of people, induced a mass panic – he has this – this serum. It--” She trails off, swallows, letting out a shaky breath. “It's a hallucinogen. Makes people live out their worst fears.”

For a few seconds, no one makes a sound, all digesting the information, and Oliver's insides run cold, because wherever Barry is right now, he's suffering – has been suffering his worst nightmares, over and over again, for _three fucking days,_ and fuck this. Oliver lets out a growl, slams his fist down on the desk hard and everyone seems to flinch around him – Caitlin recoiling somewhat.

“God fucking dammit,” Oliver snarls, voice unsteady. “I can't _do_ this anymore. We can't wait while Barry suffers. I can't-- I--”

“Oliver,” Thea interrupts, voice panicked, eyes widened. “Oliver, you have to look at this, right now.”

She's holds her phone out to him, and he snatches it with trembling hands, trying to clear his mind so that he can concentrate on whatever Thea is trying to show him, and then--

 _Fuck_.

There are varying news results in the search that Thea decided to conduct on Scarecrow – all of the same context.

_Johnathan Crane escaped from Arkham Asylum. Sends a video message to the Starling City vigilante, goes viral within minutes._

“When was this uploaded?” Oliver asks in a low growl.

“Ten minutes ago,” Thea tells him.

Shaky hands manage to navigate to the YouTube link, and he presses play. There is Jonathan Crane, staring back at him into the camera. He's in some sort of warehouse – Oliver can tell. By this point, he's been in enough of them to spot them immediately.

The guy looks normal enough – raven black hair a little matted, glasses askew on his face, but other than that, there would be no telling that this is the man responsible for all of the suffering endured in the last few days (on Barry's part, and everyone else that cares about him). They all gather around the phone, listening in trepidation as the man speaks into the camera in quite a monotone voice, as though he were merely discussing the weather.

“This is a message for The Arrow, wherever you are,” He quirks a smirk, and Oliver can feel the clench in his jaw. “I have someone very important to you. It was... interesting, really. I just wanted to capture your ally, maybe lure you in a little so I can have a little fun with you myself, but imagine my surprise when I discovered exactly who I had managed to capture instead.”

His voice lowers, but the sadistic grin remains firmly on his face. “I know exactly who you are now – and I know exactly the value of the person who I hold captive. Be warned, I'll be in touch when I decide exactly what I'm going to do with this information. For now,” A giggle escapes him, and for the first time, Oliver sees the shreds of insanity in his face. “Well, don't worry – my guest is a little... preoccupied right now, shall we say?” With another smirk, the camera cuts out, and Oliver's hands slam into his face as a whimper escapes him. He vaguely feels Felicity's hand run over his back in a soothing motion, but it does little to ease the panic coursing through his veins.

As though by cue, the doors to the basement slam open, and in storms Joe, Iris trailing behind him furiously.

“You need to find him. Right now, Oliver. Enough is _enough_.”

“What do you think I've been doing, Joe? Just sitting on my hands while my fiancée has been missing for _days_?” Oliver sounds out between his clenched teeth, because this really is _not_ the time for the disapproving father act.

“Dad,” Iris soothes, gripping onto Joe's arm. “Dad, you need to calm down. Look at him. He's suffering as much as we are. Shouting at him isn't going to help.” Her eyes are red raw, and he can tell by her shrunken pupils and the shadows under her eyes just how little sleep Barry's best friend has been getting in the past few days.

To his credit, Joe backs off without a word, sending a stiff nod to Oliver that's more of a demand. A demand to get to fucking work already, and to get Barry to safety, and who is he to argue?

 

***

 

It doesn't take long for Felicity to track the location of the uploaded video, and Oliver thanks his lucky stars that he had seen enough potential in the genius that is Felicity Smoak to let her into his life, because he's fairly certain that he'd be at his wits end right now if it weren't for her. Well, even more so. After all, he's been on edge for days – but he's finally here, and Barry is inside, and he can almost taste the victory, because all of hell's demons and heaven's angels couldn't stop him from getting Barry the fuck out of there and taking him home.

The warehouse is dark and dank as he enters it, and there is a pungent, bitter smell in the air that sends an unpleasant twist to his stomach.

The first room is empty, and something isn't right – he can feel it. He can't explain it, but there's a stench of _wrongness_ in the air.

Then, he sees it, flooding through the walls. Gas. And, _fuck_. Caitlin warned him about this. He pulls the mask given handed him over his face. It's not dissimilar to one that a surgeon would wear to cover their nose and lips, except it's made out of stronger, more resistant material, and it's so tight around him that it leaves little room for air. He has no idea how Caitlin and Cisco managed to track it down so quickly, nor where it came from, but he's certainly grateful for it.

He's also grateful that he'd warned everyone else to stay away. Reluctantly, they'd agreed, but only because they only had one of the masks at their disposal.

He manages to slam through the door at the opposite end of the entrance with a little bit of force, and he sucks in a breath at the sight in front of him. Barry is hunched over in the corner, no longer restrained, but evidently completely out of his mind. His eyes are red, bloodshot and heavy, and his hair is completely matted on top of his head, his pupils overblown, and he's rocking back and forth, quivering and whimpering to himself, eyes fixed on something in front of him – something that Oliver cannot see, but for Barry, it's completely real, and Oliver's heart breaks all over again.

He hesitates, before moving slowly over to him, crouching down in front of him, and it's clear that Barry can't see him at all – hasn't even registered any change in the room, and shit, he needs to get him the fuck out of here _right now_.

“How disappointing, Mr Queen,” Comes a voice from the doorway, and Oliver's head snaps up to meet the cold, hardened eyes of Dr Crane. He rolls his eyes, before making his way over to Oliver. “I was hoping that my gas would catch you off guard, but you came prepared. No worries, though. I can improvise.”

Without warning, he pulls out a syringe from his pocket, and he throws himself at Oliver, cackling madly. He's quick, but Oliver's quicker, and he manages to knock it away in one swift movement, listening as it shatters on the floor.

“You're going to pay for _everything_ you've done,” Oliver growls out, fisting the guy's suit jacket before slamming him into the wall with a sharp _thud_ , and Dr Crane still smiles at him as though they're playing a game that just got interesting.

“Well, well, well. I've got to say – you're a lot more agile than your boy toy, there. Funny, really, considering his... abilities.”

He can't bring himself to acknowledge the guy, and instead turns his attention to Barry, who seems to have crossed his arms, and is digging his nails into his upper arms frantically, his face now buried where they cross over. He's muttering something, but Oliver can't quite make it out.

“Hang in there, Barr,” Oliver tells him softly. “We're going home.”

He ignores the sharp stab he feels as Barry doesn't so much as flinch at the sound of his voice, and he fixes Crane with a menacing glare. “What did you do to him?”

“Oh, he can't hear you,” Crane drawls, voice alight with giddiness. “As far as he's concerned, he's living his worst nightmares over and over again inside his head. Keeps calling out for you, too, to _save him_ , or calling for his _mommy_ , whimpering about a man in a yellow mask – quite colourful past Mr Allen has suffered, wouldn't you say?”

“How do I stop it?” Oliver asks, slamming Crane's back into the wall again, but Crane just cackles in reply, as though Oliver's told him the funniest joke on the planet.

Then, Oliver reaches into his quiver without much forethought, pulling out an arrow and piercing it into Crane's leg, who lets out a wail of agony, his expression contorted in pain, and Oliver doesn't even feel guilty for the brief feeling of satisfaction that courses through him. Blood trickles down Crane's leg, and Oliver brings one of his hands to his neck, tightening slightly. “I'm going to ask one more time. Tell. Me. How. To. Stop. It.”

“You know, that's not a question – that's more of a demand,” Crane chokes out, his lips perking into a weak smirk, and fucking hell, Oliver cannot deal with this guy's insanity right now. It's too much.

But then, an idea strikes him.

He doesn't know if it'll work, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and he finds himself slamming Crane to the floor beside the shattered serum, hand twisted into his hair so that his face is firmly against the cold, hard concrete. He eyes the liquid closely for the first time – it's a deep, greenish concoction, and even the odour of it this close is filling Oliver with dread. He drags Crane's face over it, waiting until he's sure that the man's inhaled a good amount of it before bringing him up to meet his eyes.

Crane recoils, and it's Oliver's turn to smirk. “We can do this two ways. I can drive an arrow through your heart _right now_ – and believe me, Mr Crane, I will. You've done your research, so you'll know that I've killed people before. I will do it again without a second thought, and I will find a way to cure Barry myself. Or you can tell me where I can find the cure, and you will be shipped back to Arkham Asylum with your limbs intact. Your move.”

A giggle breaks out, but it's shakier, more breathy, and Oliver takes in Crane's dilated pupils. The serum is working it's effects through him. If this is what happens after a few seconds of contact, it's no wonder that Barry's descended into madness after three days of that shit running through his system.

“Don't you get it?” Crane chokes out. “There _is_ no cure. Barry Allen is lost to you.”

“No!” Oliver roars, and before he knows it, he's slamming another arrow into Crane's arm, revelling in the tear of the flesh and the splatter of blood that reaches his face. He feels as though he's about to descend into madness himself – serum or no serum. He can't lose Barry – he _can't_. He desperately searches Crane's eyes for any hint of a lie, but to his dismay, the man is looking at him with such raw honesty that Oliver feels his insides burn hot with rage.

He barely registers what he's doing as he slams his fist into Crane's face – once, twice, three times, and then he hoists himself up, standing over him, and pulls out an arrow from his quiver, setting it on the string and pointing it towards Crane with shaky hands. He'll go to jail – he knows he will, but he doesn't fucking _care_ anymore, because he's lost Barry, and the man responsible just cannot walk away from this with breath still in his lungs – not if Oliver has anything to say about it.

A crackle from the speaker in his ear makes him still, and he hears Felicity. “Oliver, don't-- god. Don't do it! He's lying!”

“He's not,” Oliver replies, voice trembling. “Felicity, he's not. I can tell. I'm going to kill him.”

“Oliver, _please_ ,” Felicity begs, but it's no good. His grip steadies on his bow, and his eyes narrow at his target as he calculates the best angle.

“Stop,” Another voice echoes in the warehouse, and Oliver's senses seem to return to him. He twists his head to the side to be greeted with the sight of Amanda Waller herself, strutting across the area with purpose. “We need him alive, Mr Queen.”

“He doesn't get to live,” Oliver growls out harshly. “He can't-- Barry-- _Fuck_.”

Waller glances over to Barry, who still remains rocking in the spot, whimpering incoherently, and her lips tilt into a smirk. “It's your lucky day. I'll make you a deal. Drop the bow – let us take him, and I'll give you this.” She holds up a small vial, containing blue liquid that seems to fizz a little, and Oliver's expression twists into one of perplexity.

“But he said there was no cure. Is that--?”

Waller shrugs, glancing down at Crane, who has gone still and quiet, seemingly enveloped in his own world of nightmares now, and she shakes her head slowly. “He wasn't aware of it, I'm sure. It was developed by our specialists after the last outbreak. I'll give you one more chance. Drop the bow, and you can have this, and you can get him out of here. It will take approximately two hours to cleanse his system, and he should be back to normal.”

He lowers the bow slowly, not quite trusting the other woman, but not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, because this is it, Barry's going to be okay. They're going to go home, and Barry will be safe, and he can have his _life_ back. Elation floods through him as Waller approaches him, thrusting the vial into his hand before she murmurs something into the mouthpiece on her suit jacket, and suddenly, six men, clad in bulletproof vests and army boots, are marching in and hoisting a dazzled Crane to his feet, dragging him to the exit with them.

Waller has already turned her back, ready to leave without another word.

“Thank you,” Oliver says earnestly, and the woman stills for a second, before turning to meet Oliver's eyes once more.

“Don't flatter yourself, Oliver. We didn't do this for you. We could use Crane's... speciality in our interrogations. Tell your fiancée to be more careful next time.”

Oliver nods stiffly, watching her disappear before he scrambles to Barry's side. “Barr-- it's me. It's Oliver. Can you hear me?”

He still stares blankly ahead, and Oliver's heart sinks. He stares at the liquid in his hand, and lets out a slow breath before tilting Barry's head back without any struggle, pouring the liquid down his throat. Barry seems to briefly panic for a second, and Oliver has to quickly grasp onto his nose and clap his hand over his mouth until he swallows down the concoction in a harsh gulp.

When he takes his hand away, Barry takes in a strangled breath, gasping desperately. Panicked eyes meet Oliver's, and he knows that the cure has started to work its magic. Barry continues to murmur incoherently as Oliver gathers him into his arms, his head dipping onto his chest. His limbs dangle uselessly in Oliver's hold, but he's shaking, and he's sobbing, and Oliver's chest tightens even further because despite the fact that he knows it's working, he can't stand seeing Barry like this. The sooner it wears off the better.

 

***

 

They're back at the base – though it's just Oliver, Joe and Iris – everyone else has been demanded to clear out, as not to overwhelm Barry. Family only, Joe had said.

Barry's lying on a makeshift bed of couch pillows that Thea managed to gather up from the couches in the nightclub. It's not perfect – they reek of alcohol, and god knows what else, but it's better than having Barry lie on a cold hard floor as he thrashes about in bouts of delirious panic.

Like Amanda Waller had warned him, it takes a little over two hours for the trembling to stop, and for Barry to finally realise where he is.

“Ollie,” He breathes, and the words work their way right through his chest as relief floods through him in an instant. He's never been so grateful in his entire life to hear the nickname be uttered.

“Barry,” Oliver whimpers, approaching him hesitantly, paranoid that he might set him off again. There seems to be no trace of the serum left in Barry's eyes, though. Sure, they're a little glazed over, and faint tremors still run through him, but he's completely aware, now. He lifts his hand to stroke his thumb over Barry's cheek in a gentle caress, a shaky breath escaping him. “God, Barr. I thought I lost you.”

“Barry, thank god!” Iris breathes out, rushing to Barry's other side, immediately followed by Joe. “We were all so worried.”

“I'm okay,” Barry replies with a croak, holding his hand out to squeeze hers weakly. “I just- I need rest.”

Oliver places a soft kiss on his forehead, and nods to Iris and Joe, before leaving Barry's side, ignoring the urge to crash himself into Barry's arms and grip onto him for dear life. It's not what he needs right now, he knows. He can't be selfish.

Iris rubs Barry's shoulder in a comforting gesture, sending him a timid closed-lipped smile and tears herself away – Oliver can tell it hurts her just as much as it hurts him. He sends her a small smile in solidarity, and she returns it.

“You're going to be okay, Barr. We'll be right here when you feel that you can go home.”

“Thanks, Joe,” Barry murmurs weakly, heavy eyes wrenching themselves shut outside of Barry's control. Joe huffs a small laugh, and makes his way over to where the other two stand, wallowing in their misery.

“He's okay. He just needs to sleep,” Joe assures them both, before turning his full attention to Oliver. “Listen, I'm sorry I snapped at you back there. I guess I was just looking for someone to blame, and I lashed out. Thank you for bringing him back.”

Oliver nods, clapping Joe on the shoulder. “I understand, Joe. It's already forgotten.”

 

***

 

It takes a few more hours before Barry wakes up, and he's still a little drowsy, but he's well enough to go home, and with a few tearful goodbyes to Iris and Joe and a promise to visit as soon as he can, he lets Oliver hoist his arm over his shoulders so that Barry can use him as a crutch, and they make their way back to their apartment.

It's as much of a shock to Oliver as it is to Barry when they open the door to find the mess that he'd left in his fury, because he'd honestly forgotten about it. After a few seconds, though, Barry just shakes his head. “You really did a number on the place, huh?”

“I-- I was a bit angry.”

“A _bit_?”

He levels a glare at Barry, but there's no heat behind it – it's physically impossible for Oliver to even be remotely irritated by his fiancée right now, because he's fully aware of how lucky they are to have made it back, Barry's mind still in one piece.

He's never been so grateful for Amanda Waller in his entire life, even if she did only help them out to serve her own purposes.

They make their way into the bedroom, and Barry groans as he spreads himself out over soft mattress, Oliver falling into place beside him, tugging Barry into his arms possessively. Barry nuzzles him softly, and for the first time in days, Oliver feels completely at peace with the world.

(Oliver lets Barry know exactly how much he's missed him when they wake up from their long, much needed slumber by mapping out his entire body, pressing kisses to every dimple, murmuring words of admiration into his skin before they make love. It's slow, and it's filled with words of passion and reassurance, and it's _perfect_ as far as Oliver's concerned.)

 


End file.
